New International Version
My lyre is tuned to mourning, and my pipe to the sound of wailing.
King James Bible
My harp also is turned to mourning, and my organ into the voice of them that weep.
Darby Bible Translation
My harp also is [turned] to mourning, and my pipe into the voice of weepers.
World English Bible
Therefore my harp has turned to mourning, and my pipe into the voice of those who weep.
Young's Literal Translation
And my harp doth become mourning, And my organ the sound of weeping.
Job 30:31 Parallel
CommentaryClarke's Commentary on the Bible
My harp also is turned to mourning - Instead of the harp, my only music is my own plaintive cries.
And my organ - What the עגב uggab was, we know not; it was most probably some sort of pipe or wind instrument. His harp, כנור kinnor, and his pipe, עגב uggab, were equally mute, or only used for mournful ditties.
This chapter is full of the most painful and pathetic sorrow; but nevertheless tempered with a calmness and humiliation of spirit, which did not appear in Job's lamentations previously to the time in which he had that remarkable revelation mentioned in the nineteenth chapter. (Job 19:25) After he was assured that his Redeemer was the living God, he submitted to his dispensations, kissed the rod, and mourned not without hope, though in deep distress, occasioned by his unremitting sufferings. If the groaning of Job was great, his stroke was certainly heavy.
Treasury of Scripture Knowledge
Job, in his great indignation at the shameful accusation of unkindness to the needy, pours forth the following very solemn imprecation--"If I have withheld the poor from their desire, or have caused the eyes of the widow to fail; or have eaten my morsel myself alone, and the fatherless hath not eaten thereof; if I have seen any perish for want of clothing, or any poor without covering; if his loins have not blessed me, and if he were not warmed with the fleece of my sheep; if I have lifted up my …
Charles Haddon Spurgeon—Spurgeon's Sermons Volume 8: 1863
Of Confession of Our Infirmity and of the Miseries of this Life
I go about blackened, but not by the sun; I stand up in the assembly and cry for help.
There on the poplars we hung our harps,
The joyful timbrels are stilled, the noise of the revelers has stopped, the joyful harp is silent.
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